


Morning In Sussex Downs

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Established Relationship, Lazy Sex, M/M, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 02:59:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17541380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: The first day of Holmes and Watson's retirement gets off to a good start.





	Morning In Sussex Downs

It might have been the song of the woodlark that woke me, or perhaps it was the light spilling into the room through our east-facing bedroom windows as the sun rose over Sussex Downs. But for a moment after I first opened my eyes, I was certain that I had been transported heavenward in my sleep. Below the white linen curtains that softened the sunshine, nestled with me under rumpled sheets in a double bed, was my beloved Holmes, also awake now but sleepy, and wonderfully warm wherever our half-entwined bodies touched.

Mornings had not been like this in London. There, the air was jaundiced even on the most clement days, and birdsong was unheard of, save for the grumbling of the pigeons in the street. The idea of retirement had filled me with trepidation, as all such transitions are fraught with uncertainty, but at this moment, I knew that I had nothing to fear from this new life.

I reached up and flicked the latch on the closest window, pushing it open a mere inch. A pleasant breeze blew in, bringing with it more birdsong, and the sound of rustling leaves in the blossoming trees. Holmes’ eyelashes fluttered as he decided between wakefulness and a return to dreams. As I was feeling at the moment like those two states were not so far apart, I pestered him with a cuddle and many kisses to his face. He uttered a little closed-mouth grunt of protest and turned his face to push it into the pillows, then squirmed onto his belly, as if to escape from the world by burrowing beneath the sheets.

I stretched out alongside him and settled myself in for a long bout of exploring under the bedclothes. All the sheets were in a tangle, and so dipping my hands beneath them, I could not guess precisely when or where I would encounter Holmes’ body. But with much lazy fumbling, I eventually determined that his nightshirt had rucked up around his middle, and thus his thighs and rump were particularly susceptible to my groping. (Until he rolled off his stomach, the other parts would have to wait.) His behind was compact, but it had a soft curve that was so nice to hold, and I availed myself of it. Whilst I lazily rubbed his sleep-warmed body, I watched the sunlight slowly spread across the bed.

With enough caresses administered, Holmes deigned to roll halfway onto his side – he wanted a bit of frigging now. But he was not selfish: as soon as I began to tug on his prick, he was rummaging around under the covers in search of my half-standing member. I could not imagine anything more splendid than to lie sprawled in bed with my dear friend, pulling at each other’s pricks while a gentle breeze billowed the curtains, as the sweet smell of all the blossoms and buds in the garden wafted in.

The only fragrance more delightful to me was that of Holmes’ body, and I pressed my nose into his neck to find it. His scent could be more potent in the morning, and so particularly intoxicating to me. It was making me randy; now I wanted to taste him, too. I shifted my half-awake limbs so I could get further down the bed and nuzzle his prick and balls, where his musk was strongest. I snuffled around the root of his cockstand, before taking him in my mouth and suckling at him. My tongue collected the dew that had emerged at the tip, and coaxed out more.

Holmes held out his hand, palm up, and I took it, entwining our fingers while I gave him my mouth. My tongue was just as lazy as the rest of me, swirling without rhyme or reason while I handled his bollocks. After some time he began to whinge, and squeezed my hand to let me know that he was about to spend; I squeezed back to assure him that he should do so freely. I swallowed his gush of spend while his breath hitched and he stiffened all over, then relaxed. I did not withdraw, but rested my head on his hip and waited until his prick softened and slipped from between my lips.

He wished to repay me in kind, but neither of us wanted to move much to facilitate it, so we sort of flopped and fumbled about for a while, planting sloppy kisses as we went, until he was able to tease my prick with soft, pursed lips.

I did not care to expend energy by moving my hips; I simply allowed him to roll my glans around and around on his tongue. But sucking him had excited me immensely, as it always did, and so I was most of the way to my crisis already. I lost myself so completely in golden sun-soaked bliss that I forgot to utter a word of warning that my offering was on the way, and so when his sleepy mouthing at me provoked a quiet, blissful climax, I filled his mouth to overflowing, which compelled him to lick at his lips to collect all I’d spent, and lap at my softening prick besides.

We lolled about on the bed in a contented heap, not bothering to tug our nightshirts down or pull the covers over ourselves, as the breeze caressing our bare skin felt so lovely. I was arranged close enough to him to cradle the soft curve of his hip, all the way down to the hollow at the back of his knee.

Aside from his single brief cry at the peak of ecstasy, the whole morning had been only sighs and murmurs, and I felt a nuisance breaking the silence, but I wanted to suggest to Holmes: “You know, there’s nothing stopping us from lying here just rubbing and sucking all day.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered in reply. “You know the truth: five minutes too many in bed and our necks will ache like hell.” He hauled himself upright. “And anyway, if you don’t get up, how are you going to cook me breakfast?”

“Oho, so I’m cooking you breakfast? Is that the arrangement?”

“Only until we get a housekeeper in.” Holmes adjusted his nightshirt as he stood, and slipped into his dressing gown, but did not bother to secure it closed.

“Dear God,” I said, as I rose from the bed, “who are we going to find who’ll be willing to do the cooking and the laundry and lay the fire after the seventh or eighth time they walk in on us lying around with our pricks in each other’s mouths?”

Holmes briefly contemplated this. “We’ll have to be more conscientious, I suppose.”

“I did not sell my practice and leave London and come all the way out here to _not_ have you all afternoon if I so choose,” I complained, whilst Holmes helped me into my dressing gown. He fussed over me, straightening the collar and tying the sash for me.

“Then it sounds like you’re prepared to make me breakfast indefinitely, then,” he said.

I may have grumbled at this, but I had no doubt I would find the effort worth it. “Very well,” I said. “Are there eggs?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> berlynn-wohl on Tumblr and Pillowfort for more of this sort of nonsense, plus information about my stories that are not available on AO3.
> 
> I also used to be something of a BBC!Johnlock fic writer, and you can check those out on this site. :)


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